


A Little Help, Part 2

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Childhood Memories, F/M, Friend Fluff, Friendship, Illness, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:31:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: A little sequel to my first story, A Little Help. Takes place during Season 5, episode 6. Miss Baxter brings Thomas his tea upstairs.





	

“Tea’s ready in the servants’ hall if you want it,” Mrs. Patmore said to Miss Baxter as she made her way out of the kitchen. Miss Baxter followed the cook to the head of the long table, where Mrs. Patmore began to pour individual cups and pass them to each of the servants. 

Miss Baxter stood behind the cook, and said softly, “I’ll take a cup up to Mr. Barrow if you don’t mind.”

“Isn’t Mr. Barrow lucky, to have someone bring him tea in bed,” a voice said from behind her. 

Mr. Bates. He sat in Thomas’ favorite chair, next to the fire, and had lowered his newspaper when he spoke. 

Miss Baxter kept her voice low. “He’s ill, Mr. Bates,” she said. “Anyone could see that, the last several days.” She raised her voice slightly then. Perhaps she did want to be heard by the other servants. “And he tried to go on working, despite being unwell. I’m sure the least we owe him is a cup of tea in bed.”

Mr. Bates, likely not wanting to make a thing of it, merely raised an eyebrow and returned to his newspaper. 

Miss Baxter turned back to Mrs. Patmore. “I think I’ll take my tea upstairs as well,” she said.

Mrs. Patmore shrugged. “Go on and fetch a tray, then,” she answered. 

Miss Baxter made her way to the kitchen and found a tray. Once she had returned to the servants’ hall and filled it with two cups of steaming tea, and a pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar, as well as a plate of biscuits, she made her way up the stairs to Thomas’ room. 

From his doorway she could see he still slept soundly where she had left him, with a cloth on his forehead. She walked quietly into the room and set the tray on his bureau. She then walked around to the other side of his bed, and hesitated for a moment. She hated to wake him, but she was sure the cloth on his head had long since gone warm.

As she carefully peeled it away, he opened his eyes. “Hello,” she said softly. She dropped the cloth into the bowl of water on his wash stand, and returned her hand to his forehead. “Your fever’s gone down,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She let her hand linger on his face for just a moment, stroked his temple with her thumb.

He inhaled, and rolled his shoulders a bit, as if checking to see how everything felt. “Better,” he answered. “Thanks to you.”

She smiled. “I’ve brought up your tea. Can you sit up?”

“I think so,” he said with a sigh.

She pulled out the pillow she had left behind his back, along with the now soaking towel that had once held ice chips. After he grimaced and moved into an uneasy seated position, she turned the pillow to its dry side, and placed it behind his back again, so he could rest against his headboard. He began to shiver, no longer completely under the cover of his blankets. She pulled a small crocheted lap blanket from the back of his arm chair, and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

She then walked back to the bureau for the tea tray, as he continued to gingerly rearrange himself, trying to find a comfortable rest. She brought the tray to his bed, and set it over his lap. He looked down at it. 

“Two?” he asked.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. “I thought I’d have my tea up here with you,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

He looked down, somewhat sheepishly. “I don’t mind,” he said softly.

“Good,” she answered with a smile. “Milk, no sugar?”

He nodded. She poured milk into each of the cups and stirred them with a spoon. Funny she had brought sugar, knowing neither of them wanted it. 

After they had both had a sip, she spoke. “I am glad you’re feeling better, Thomas—Mr. Barrow,” she corrected herself. 

He lowered his cup to the tray. “You can call me Thomas when it’s just us,” he said, shyly. “You might as well… Phyllis.”

Now it was her turn for a shy smile. “I think I will,” she answered him.

“Or what was it we used to call you?” he mused. “…Filly?”

She gasped playfully. “Thomas Barrow!” she cried. “After all I’ve done for you, you bring that up again? How could you?” she asked, feigning shock.

He smirked. “Neigh…” he whinnied, ever so softly into his tea.

She gasped again, swatted his thigh. 

“Ow!” he called out.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said, concerned that she actually may have hurt him. 

“It’s alright,” he said, pretending to pout. “But don’t tell me that if we’re going to be friends again, you didn’t expect that at some point.”

She smiled at him again, and laughed into her tea. “Alright,” she said, “But there will be none of that in front of anyone else. Do you understand me?”

“Deal,” he said. 

After a pause she looked at him. “Did I hear you say you want to be my friend, then?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re nothing if not persistent,” he said. His voice became soft. “Really, though. I’d have been in real trouble today if not for you. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

They both smiled then—because it was true—and sipped their tea.


End file.
